The cupboard, a solid construction
in oak. had been built in the days of Queen Victoria, before the idea of
skimping on materials had even been thought of. It stood some six feet high and
eight feet wide, and behind the dingy glass of its doors were rows of tattered
Bibles, hymn books and Books of Common Prayer. Some assorted theological works,
probably acquired by a former vicar at the start of the century, graced the top
shelf, garnering dust.
'Probably be easier if we took the
books out Is that okay with you?'
'Oh yes. In fact you'll be doing me
a favour. I've been meaning to sort that cupboard out since I came here ...
just one of the things I've never got round to. Tell me. Sergeant, how did you become
interested in this dig?'
Gerry Heffernan, seeing that Wesley
was about to become embroiled in a lengthy conversation with the amiable
clergyman, gently nudged his arm. Wesley understood.
'Sorry. Vicar. I'll have to drag my
sergeant away before he starts digging up your church floor. Duty calls.'
'I quite understand, Inspector.' He
shook Wesley's hand. 'Do let me know when you want to move the cupboard.
Sergeant Peterson.'
'Wesley.' He judged that reciprocal
first names were appropriate. 'Sorry to rush off but, as the inspector says,
duty calls.'
They walked back to the incident
room in amicable silence until Heffernan said what was on his mind. 'What do
you reckon, Wes? Who killed Norman Openheim? Looks like it wasn't Rat. He's a vicious
little bastard who'd probably slit his mother's throat for a fiver, and if he
nicked the bike he could just about have made it back to Bereton. but somehow I
don't think this was his MO. He'd be more interested in the money Norman had on
him than a silver lighter that he might find it hard to get shot of. And where would
he get a bayonet?'
'The bayonet indicates someone with
a military connection. A souvenir of the war, perhaps... one of Norman's
comrades?'
"How do you get a bayonet through
airport X-ray machines and metal detectors without questions being asked?
Besides, they've all got alibis, Wes ... backing each other to the hilt.'
'Unless they were all involved ...
an execution.'
'What for?"
'How should I know? Cowardice? Isn't
that what they used to do in times of war?'
'There's nothing to suggest Norman
Openheim did anything untoward in the war. And he seemed popular . .. just a
regular guy. everyone said so. Popular."
'Not popular with his wife.'
'He probably lacked excitement...
but then most of us do after being married that long. I'd have put my bets on
it being the wife for the insurance money and the chance to marry the dashing Todd
Weringer. but they've got an alibi far more watertight than
the Rosie May is at the moment. Who does that leave?'
"Madam Butterfly.'
'Who?'
'Marion Potter. The wartime
sweetheart he deserted. He left her a souvenir in the form of a daughter. I've
met the lady ... she seems a lovely old dear but.. .'
'Never trust appearances ... quite
right. Wes.'
'] think we can rule out the
daughter, but she's got a son who's known to us ... bit of burglary, receiving,
that sort of thing. He wasn't in when Rachel and I paid him a visit ...
either that or his mum had rung to warn him we were on our way.'
'So let's go and give him a nice
surprise, shall we?'
The daughter, Carole Martin, said he
didn't see his grandfather... but he knew where he was staying. If he'd
arranged a meeting.. .'
'He sounds more interesting by the
minute. Come on.'
They reached the car. When they
climbed inside Heffernan switched the radio on and found it tuned to Classic
FM. 'I fancy a bit of culture, Wes,' he explained as Dame Kiri Te Kanawa gave a
fine rendering of Puccini's 'One Fine Day'. 'Very appropriate this, Wes.' He
smiled with satisfaction. 'Must be a sign ... Madam Butterfly. "One fine
day I'll find him .. ."Know what it's about, Wes?'
'Yes, sir. Pam and I went to see
Butterfly at Covent Garden when we lived in London... birthday treat.'
Heffernan. the music lover, appeared
deflated. He was looking forward to showing off his cultural knowledge by
telling his sergeant the story of the local - in this case Japanese - girl who falls
in love with an American serviceman and has his child, unknown to him until his
return. It all ended in tears, of course. It had to: it was an opera. Had
Marion's love ended, not in her death as with the unfortunate Butterfly, but
with her former lover's? It was something to be considered.
'What about Wayne Restorick?' Wesley
changed the subject.
'What do you make of him as a suspect?'
'Do you see him as a murderer? Would
he stick a knife into someone's back?'
Wesley shook his head. 'He's a bit
slow. I can see him being easily led and easily scared... but stabbing someone
in the back for no reason - not his style. That doesn't mean he wasn't hanging around
the old chantry. He might have seen something, but we've no proof ... not yet.
It's hard to question him ... the mother's very protective.'
'We could take him down to the station
... get a social worker to sit in.'
'I don't want to frighten him, sir.
He might clam up altogether if we did. The station might not be the best place.
They had reached Morbay, driving down its palm-lined
seafront where mothers with small children to entertain were now venturing on
to the beach in coats and shivering in the watery sunshine while their
offspring mined for buried treasure.
They turned left at a large and once
prestigious hotel and drove into Morbay's back streets. Young people hung
around street corners dressed in shades of black and grey. There were two shabby
figures, loitering outside a run-down fish and chip shop sharing chips from a
greasy sheet of paper, whom Heffernan recognised immediately. He told Wesley to
stop the car and strolled up behind them. They didn't turn round but their dog
was studying him in a quizzical manner.
"Give us a chip, lads. I'm
starving.'
The two young men swung round. Their
first instinct was to flee, but Fang began to jump up at Heffernan, licking his
hands playfully, greeting him like a long-lost friend.
'It's okay, lads. Nothing to worry
about. I'm not going to pull you in this time. Do you know your mate's in
hospital?"
They shook their heads, dumbstruck,
wary.
'It wasn't our idea ... it was Rat.
He's crazy. We just went along... we had to make sure he didn't do anything
stupid,' Snot snivelled ingratiatingly, trying to convince the inspector of his
innocence.
Heffernan had no real intention of
arresting them. They'd be in trouble soon enough and provide some young PC with
a couple of notches on his truncheon.
'Is Rat okay?' Dog looked younger
and more vulnerable than Heffernan remembered. The inspector had a son of his
own. He felt sorry for the boy who stood there, dirty and pathetic. The streets
- even the streets of Morbay - held dangers for kids like Dog.
"We don't know yet, son,' he
replied gently. 'He's still unconscious.'
Snot drew his own conclusions. He
began to approach Heffernan threateningly. Dog put a warning hand on his arm
but Snot shook it off.
'You pigs beat him up. I know what
you fucking pigs are like... beat him fucking unconscious. Suppose you said he
fell down some stairs... .'
He put up his fist but Dog clung on
to his sleeve. Wesley, seeing what was happening, got out of the car and
grabbed Snot, holding the struggling youth in an armlock.
'Nobody beat him up. Kenneth.' said Heffernan
calmly, using Snot's real name. 'He was run over... ran out in front of a Land Rover.
It was his own fault... nothing to do with us. okay?'
Snot looked at the inspector, the
fight fading from his eyes.
Wesley gradually released his grip.
'You okay now?'
Snot nodded. Dog began to stroke
Fang, who had watched the proceedings with interest.
'I've got a couple of things to ask you,
then you can go. I could arrest you for being Rat's accomplices when he pinched
the beer from that shop, but I'm a soft old bugger so I should take advantage
of it if I were you. If you tell me what I want to know - tell the truth - I'll
give you another chance... okay?'
Snot nodded, suspicious. 'What is
it? What do you want to know?'
'Did Rat say anything about where
he'd been on Sunday night?'
'He said he nicked a bike and went
to a village ... nicked some booze from a shop and kipped in a bam. That's what
he told us. We met up with him the next day.'
'Have you ever seen Rat with a
knife?'
'Yeah. He had a knife ... you know
he did."
'Is that the only one he had? Did he
have another knife?
Something bigger... like a bayonet that fits into a rifle?'
Snot laughed and shook his head. The
question was easier than he had expected. 'Nan... nothing like that'
'You sure?'
'Positive,' said Dog confidently.
'He didn't have nothing like that.'
'Thanks.' The inspector put his hand
in his pocket and took out a ten-pound note. 'Here.' Get yourselves something
to eat ... don't spend it on booze or dope, okay?'
Snot studied the note suspiciously
as if there must be a catch to this policeman's generosity.
'Have you got anywhere to sleep?'
'Night shelter on Warren Road.'
'Gordon Street's better ... Sally
Army place. I know Captain Wells who runs it I can give you a lift there if you
like ... introduce you. Going back to London?'
Snot shrugged. 'Dunno .. . can't
really leave Rat here.'
'Look, Kenneth... word of advice.
Rat's bad news. Either stop round here or go back to the smoke, but forget
about him. Do yourselves a favour... keep away from the likes of Rat. Get in
the car.'
Wesley looked at his boss
enquiringly.
'Come on, Wes. give us a hand with
Fang."
Wesley, unused to dogs, took the string
that served as a lead and held on to Fang, who looked up at him appealingly and
wagged his tail while Heffernan settled the lads in the back seat. The sergeant
drove to the old school building which served as a hostel for the
increasing numbers of homeless in Morbay and waited in the car.
Heffernan emerged from the hostel
grinning. 'I've sorted them out,' he said, getting back into the car. 'Captain
Wells says he might be able to get them some seasonal work and all.'
'Isn't this a bit... er... beyond
the call of duty, sir? They've got records and .. .'
What's the alternative? Back on the
streets under the fatherly guidance of the likes of Rat, adding to our
workload?"
'Point taken, sir. It's very ... er
... enlightened of you,' Wesley said, having his doubts about the wisdom of his
boss's actions. 'Where to now?'